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  It was obvious that Savelyich was innocent and I had insulted him for nothing by my reproaches and suspicion. I begged his pardon; but the old man was inconsolable.

  “This is what I have come to,” he kept repeating; “this is the favor my masters show me for my services! I am an old dog and a swineherd, and I am the cause of your wound!… No, my dear Pyotr Andreyich, not I, but the damned Frenchman is at the bottom of it: he taught you to prod people with iron spits, and to stamp with your feet, as though prodding and stamping could save one from an evil man! Much need there was to hire the Frenchman and spend money for nothing!”

  But who, then, had taken the trouble to inform my father of my conduct? The General? But he did not seem to show much interest in me, and Ivan Kuzmich did not think it necessary to report my duel to him. I was lost in conjectures. My suspicions fixed upon Shvabrin. He alone could benefit by informing against me and thus causing me, perhaps, to be removed from the fortress and parted from the Commandant’s family. I went to tell it all to Marya Ivanovna. She met me on the steps.

  “What is the matter with you?” she said when she saw me. “How pale you are!”

  “All is lost,” I answered, and gave her my father’s letter.

  She turned pale, too. After reading the letter she returned it to me with a hand that shook, and said in a trembling voice: “It seems it is not to be…. Your parents do not want me in your family. God’s will be done! God knows better than we do what is good for us. There is nothing for it. Pyotr Andreyich, may you at least be happy….”

  “This shall not be,” I cried, seizing her hand; “you love me; I am ready to face any risk. Let us go and throw ourselves at your parents’ feet; they are simple-hearted people, not hard and proud … they will bless us; we will be married … and then in time I am sure we will soften my father’s heart; my mother will intercede for us; he will forgive me.”

  “No, Pyotr Andreyich,” Masha answered, “I will not marry you without your parents’ blessing. Without their blessing there can be no happiness for you. Let us submit to God’s will. If you find a wife, if you come to love another woman—God be with you, Pyotr Andreyich; I shall pray for you both….”

  She burst into tears and left me; I was about to follow her indoors, but feeling that I could not control myself, returned home.

  I was sitting plunged in deep thought when Savelyich broke in upon my reflections.

  “Here, sir,” he said, giving me a piece of paper covered with writing, “see if I am an informer against my master and if I try to make mischief between father and son.”

  I took the paper from his hands: it was Savelyich’s answer to my father’s letter. Here it is, word for word:

  Dear Sir, Andrey Petrovich, our Gracious Father!

  I have received your gracious letter, in which you are pleased to be angry with me, your servant, saying that I ought to be ashamed not to obey my master’s orders; I am not an old dog but your faithful servant; I obey your orders and have always served you zealously and have lived to be an old man. I have not written anything to you about Pyotr Andreyich’s wound, so as not to alarm you needlessly, for I hear that, as it is, the mistress, our mother Avdotya Vassilyevna, has been taken ill with fright, and I shall pray for her health. Pyotr Andreyich was wounded in the chest under the right shoulder, just under the bone, three inches deep, and he lay in the Commandant’s house where we carried him from the river bank, and the local barber, Stepan Paramonov, treated him, and now, thank God, Pyotr Andreyich is well and there is nothing but good to be said of him. His commanders, I hear, are pleased with him and Vasilisa Yegorovna treats him as though he were her own son. And as to his having got into trouble, that is no disgrace to him: a horse has four legs, and yet it stumbles. And you are pleased to write that you will send me to herd pigs. That is for you to decide as my master. Whereupon I humbly salute you.

  Your faithful serf,

  Arhip Savelyev

  I could not help smiling more than once as I read the good old man’s epistle. I felt I could not answer my father, and Savelyich’s letter seemed to me sufficient to relieve my mother’s anxiety.

  From that time my position changed. Marya Ivanovna hardly spoke to me and did her utmost to avoid me. The Commandant’s house lost all its attraction for me. I gradually accustomed myself to sit at home alone. Vasilisa Yegorovna chided me for it at first, but seeing my obstinacy, left me in peace. I only saw Ivan Kuzmich when my duties required it; I seldom met Shvabrin, and did so reluctantly, especially as I noticed his secret dislike of me, which confirmed my suspicions. Life became unbearable to me. I sank into despondent brooding, nurtured by idleness and isolation. My love grew more ardent in solitude and oppressed me more and more. I lost the taste for reading and composition. My spirits drooped. I was afraid that I should go out of my mind or plunge into dissipation. Unexpected events that had an important influence upon my life as a whole suddenly gave my mind a powerful and beneficial shock.

  VI

  PUGACHOV’S REBELLION

  Listen now, young men, listen,

  To what we old men shall tell you.

  A FOLK SONG

  BEFORE I begin describing the strange events which I witnessed, I must say a few words about the situation in the Province of Orenburg at the end of 1773.

  This vast and wealthy province was inhabited by a number of half-savage peoples who had but recently acknowledged the authority of the Russian sovereigns. Unused to the laws and habits of civilized life, cruel and reckless, they constantly rebelled, and the Government had to watch over them unremittingly to keep them in submission. Fortresses had been built in suitable places and settled for the most part with Cossacks, who had owned the shores of Yaïk for generations. But the Cossacks who were to guard the peace and safety of the place had themselves for some time past been a source of trouble and danger to the Government. In 1772 a rising took place in their chief town. It was caused by the stern measures adopted by Major-General Traubenberg in order to bring the Cossacks into due submission. The result was the barbarous assassination of Traubenberg, a mutinous change in the administration of the Cossack army, and, finally, the quelling of the mutiny by means of cannon and cruel punishments.

  This had happened some time before I came to the Belogorsky fortress. All was quiet or seemed so; the authorities too easily believed the feigned repentance of the perfidious rebels, who concealed their malice and waited for an opportunity to make fresh trouble.

  To return to my story.

  One evening (it was the beginning of October, 1773) I sat at home alone, listening to the howling of the autumn wind, and watching through the window the clouds that raced past the moon. Someone came to call me to the Commandant’s. I went at once. I found there Shvabrin, Ivan Ignatyich, and the Cossack sergeant, Maximych. Neither Vasilisa Yegorovna nor Marya Ivanovna was in the room. The Commandant looked troubled as he greeted me. He closed the doors, made us all sit down except the sergeant, who was standing by the door, pulled a letter out of his pocket and said: “Important news, gentlemen! Listen to what the General writes.” He put on his spectacles and read the following:

  TO THE COMMANDANT OF THE BELOGORSKY FORTRESS, CAPTAIN MIRONOV

  Confidential.

  I inform you herewith that a runaway Don Cossack, an Old Believer, Emelyan Pugachov, has perpetrated the unpardonable outrage of assuming the name of the deceased Emperor Peter III and, assembling a criminal band, has caused a rising in the Yaïk settlements, and has already taken and sacked several fortresses, committing murders and robberies everywhere. In view of the above, you have, sir, on receipt of this, immediately to take the necessary measures for repulsing the aforementioned villain and pretender, and, if possible, for completely destroying him, should he attack the fortress entrusted to your care.

  “Take the necessary measures,” said the Commandant, removing his spectacles and folding the paper. “That’s easy enough to say, let me tell you. The villain is evidently strong; and we have only a hun
dred and thirty men, not counting the Cossacks on whom there is no relying—no offense meant, Maximych.” (The sergeant smiled.) “However, there is nothing for it, gentlemen! Carry out your duties scrupulously, arrange for sentry duty and night patrols; in case of attack shut the gates and lead the soldiers afield. And you, Maximych, keep a strict watch over your Cossacks. The cannon must be seen to and cleaned properly. And, above all, keep the whole thing secret so that no one in the fortress should know as yet.”

  Having given us these orders, Ivan Kuzmich dismissed us. Shvabrin and I walked out together, talking of what we had just heard.

  “What will be the end of it, do you think?” I asked him.

  “Heaven only knows,” he answered. “We shall see. So far, I don’t think there is much in it. But if …”

  He sank into thought, and began absent-mindedly whistling a French tune.

  In spite of all our precautions the news of Pugachov spread throughout the fortress. Although Ivan Kuzmich greatly respected his wife, he would not for anything in the world have disclosed to her a military secret entrusted to him. Having received the General’s letter, he rather skillfully got rid of Vasilisa Yegorovna by telling her that Father Gerasim had had some startling news from Orenburg, which he was guarding jealously. Vasilisa Yegorovna at once decided to go and call on the priest’s wife and, on Ivan Kuzmich’s advice, took Masha with her lest the girl should feel lonely at home.

  Finding himself master of the house, Ivan Kuzmich at once sent for us and locked Palasha in the pantry so that she should not listen at the door.

  Vasilisa Yegorovna had not succeeded in gaining any information from the priest’s wife and, coming home, she learned that, in her absence, Ivan Kuzmich had held a council, and that Palasha had been locked up. She guessed that her husband had deceived her and began questioning him. Ivan Kuzmich, however, had been prepared for attack. He was not in the least abashed and boldly answered his inquisitive consort: “Our women, my dear, have taken to heating the stoves with straw, let me tell you; and since this may cause a fire I have given strict orders that in the future they should not use straw but wood.”

  “Then why did you lock up Palasha?” the Commandant’s wife asked. “What had the poor girl done to have to sit in the pantry till our return?”

  Ivan Kuzmich was not prepared for this question; he was confused and muttered something very incoherent. Vasilisa Yegorovna saw her husband’s perfidy, but knowing that she would not succeed in learning anything from him, ceased her questions, and began talking of pickled cucumbers, which the priest’s wife prepared in some very special way. Vasilisa Yegorovna could not sleep all night, trying to guess what could be in her husband’s mind that she was not supposed to know.

  The next day returning from Mass she saw Ivan Ignatyich pulling out of the cannon bits of rag, stones, splinters, knucklebones, and all kinds of rubbish that boys had thrust into it.

  “What can these military preparations mean?” the Commandant’s wife wondered. “Are they expecting another Kirghiz raid? But surely Ivan Kuzmich would not conceal such trifles from me!” She hailed Ivan Ignatyich with the firm intention of finding out from him the secret that tormented her feminine curiosity.

  Vasilisa Yegorovna made several remarks to him about housekeeping, just as a magistrate who is cross-examining a prisoner begins with irrelevant questions so as to take him off his guard. Then, after a few moments’ silence, she sighed deeply and said, shaking her head: “Oh dear, oh dear! Just think, what news! Whatever will come of it?”

  “Don’t you worry, madam,” Ivan Ignatyich answered; “God willing, all will be well. We have soldiers enough, plenty of gunpowder, and I have cleaned the cannon. We may yet keep Pugachov at bay. Whom God helps, nobody can harm.”

  “And what sort of man is this Pugachov?” she asked.

  Ivan Ignatyich saw that he had made a slip and tried not to answer. But it was too late. Vasilisa Yegorovna forced him to confess everything, promising not to repeat it to anyone.

  She kept her promise and did not say a word to anyone except to the priest’s wife, and that was only because her cow was still grazing in the steppe and might be seized by the rebels.

  Soon everyone began talking about Pugachov. The rumors differed. The Commandant sent Maximych to find out all he could in the neighboring villages and fortresses. The sergeant returned after two days’ absence and said that in the steppe, some forty miles from the fortress, he had seen a lot of lights and had heard from the Bashkirs that a host of unknown size was approaching. He could not, however, say anything definite, for he had not ventured to go any farther.

  The Cossacks in the fortress were obviously in a state of great agitation; in every street they stood about in groups, whispering together, dispersing as soon as they saw a dragoon or a garrison soldier. Spies were sent among them. Yulay, a Kalmuck converted to the Christian faith, brought important information to the Commandant. Yulay said that the sergeant’s report was false; on his return, the sly Cossack told his comrades that he had seen the rebels, presented himself to their leader, who gave him his hand to kiss, and held a long conversation with him. The Commandant immediately arrested Maximych and put Yulay in his place. This step was received with obvious displeasure by the Cossacks. They murmured aloud and Ivan Ignatyich, who had to carry out the Commandant’s order, heard with his own ears how they said: “You will catch it presently, you garrison rat!” The Commandant had intended to question his prisoner the same day, but Maximych had escaped, probably with the help of his comrades.

  Another thing helped to increase the Commandant’s anxiety. A Bashkir was caught carrying seditious papers. On this occasion the Commandant thought of calling his officers together once more and again wanted to send Vasilisa Yegorovna away on some pretext. But since Ivan Kuzmich was a most truthful and straightforward man, he could think of no other device than the one he had used before.

  “I say, Vasilisa Yegorovna,” he began, clearing his throat, “Father Gerasim, I hear, has received from town …”

  “Don’t you tell stories, Ivan Kuzmich,” his wife interrupted him. “I expect you want to call a council to talk about Emelyan Pugachov without me; but you won’t deceive me.”

  Ivan Kuzmich stared at her.

  “Well, my dear,” he said, “if you know all about it already, you may as well stay; we will talk before you.”

  “That’s better, man,” she answered. “You are no hand at deception; send for the officers.”

  We assembled again. Ivan Kuzmich read to us, in his wife’s presence, Pugachov’s manifesto written by some half-literate Cossack. The villain declared his intention to march against our fortress at once, invited the Cossacks and the soldiers to join his band, and exhorted the commanders not to resist him, threatening to put them to death if they did. The manifesto was written in crude but forceful language, and must have produced a strong impression upon the minds of simple people.

  “The rascal!” cried Vasilisa Yegorovna. “To think of his daring to make us such offers! We are to go and meet him and lay the banners at his feet! Ah, the dog! Doesn’t he know that we’ve been forty years in the army and have seen a thing or two? Surely no commanders have listened to the brigand?”

  “I should not have thought so,” Ivan Kuzmich answered, “but it appears the villain has already taken many fortresses.”

  “He must really be strong, then,” Shvabrin remarked.

  “We are just going to find out his real strength,” said the Commandant. “Vasilisa Yegorovna, give me the key of the storehouse. Ivan Ignatyich, bring the Bashkir and tell Yulay to bring the whip.”

  “Wait, Ivan Kuzmich,” said the Commandant’s wife, getting up. “Let me take Masha out of the house; she will be terrified if she hears the screams. And, to tell the truth, I don’t care for the business myself. Good luck to you.”

  In the old days torture formed so integral a part of judicial procedure that the beneficent law which abolished it long remained a dead letter. It
used to be thought that the criminal’s own confession was necessary for convicting him, which is both groundless and wholly opposed to judicial good sense; for if the accused person’s denial of the charge is not considered a proof of his innocence, there is still less reason to regard his confession a proof of his guilt. Even now I sometimes hear old judges regretting the abolition of the barbarous custom. But in those days no one doubted the necessity of torture—neither the judges nor the accused. And so the Commandant’s order did not surprise or alarm us. Ivan Ignatyich went to fetch the Bashkir, who was locked up in Vasilisa Yegorovna’s storehouse, and a few minutes later the prisoner was led into the entry. The Commandant gave word for him to be brought into the room.

  The Bashkir crossed the threshold with difficulty (he was wearing fetters) and, taking off his tall cap, stood by the door. I glanced at him and shuddered. I shall never forget that man. He seemed to be over seventy. He had neither nose nor ears. His head was shaven; instead of a beard, a few gray hairs stuck out; he was small, thin and bent, but his narrow eyes still had a gleam in them.

  “Aha!” said the Commandant, recognizing by the terrible marks one of the rebels punished in 1741. “I see you are an old wolf and have been in our snares. Rebelling must be an old game to you, to judge by the look of your head. Come nearer; tell me, who sent you?”

  The old Bashkir was silent and gazed at the Commandant with an utterly senseless expression.

  “Why don’t you speak?” Ivan Kuzmich continued. “Don’t you understand Russian? Yulay, ask him in your language who sent him to our fortress?”

  Yulay repeated Ivan Kuzmich’s question in Tatar. But the Bashkir looked at him with the same expression and did not answer a word.

  “Very well!” the Commandant said. “I will make you speak! Lads, take off his stupid striped gown and streak his back. Mind you do it thoroughly, Yulay!”